


Demons Don't Just Live Inside Your Head

by spoiledcatmilk



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Some gansey and adam too but aren't main characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-11
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-18 15:35:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29985033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spoiledcatmilk/pseuds/spoiledcatmilk
Summary: What If The Grey Man actually did his job?
Kudos: 2





	1. 1

Latin class had come and gone. Lunch had also passed. Ronan had no more classes with his friends, and thus his willingness to stay at school was hanging by a thread.

And the thread was thinning. 

He showed up to Algebra I with only a pen, and was promptly sent to his locker to acquire a pencil. Apparently math had to be done with graphite, not ink. Not that Ronan particularly minded getting out of class for a few minutes. 

He stomped his way to his locker, turned in what he was pretty sure was the combination, and shook the locker door until it opened. Predictably, the locker was nearly bare. Ronan looked for a pencil anyway, rummaging through the few objects inside.

Ronan had one more jacket to toss aside when his locker door slammed shut, jambing the sleeve of the jacket and the corner of a notebook in the door.

Kavinsky leaned against the now shut locker door. His grin was vile. His uniform tie was loosely knotted and his collar half popped. 

“What the fuck!” Ronan says, projecting a higher level of venom into his voice than usual.

“Just wanna chat maybe chill, Netflix and chill,” Kavinsky said, narrowing his eyes and broadening his grin.

Ronan makes a noise in his throat akin to a growl. He forgot about the pencil, he forgot about Algebra I. He turned and stalked towards the nearest exit of the building.

“Aw come on Lynch,” Kavinsky called after him, “Don’t be such a prude.”

Kavinsky jogged to catch up with him and Ronan increased his pace. With his long legs Kavinsky had trouble keeping up without racewalking, and that was too lame for him, so he stoped.

“If you ever get Dick’s dick far enough out of your ass to see straight, I’ll be waiting.”

Ronan reached the door. He kicked it open and burst out into the sunlight. He stormed across the verdant grass of the campus lawns to the parking lot and the BMW. 

He threw himself into his car and peeled out of the parking lot. He revved the engine aggressively and sped to Monmouth. He blew through two stop signs for good measure.

Gansey would not be home for another three hours at the earliest and Noah was nowhere to be found. It was the perfect opportunity to do some day drinking. 

Ronan found two packs of beers in the back of the fridge and had finished them, getting good and drunk, by the time Gansey arrived home in the evening.

Gansey came to the doorway of Ronan’s room to check on him, still in his Aglionby uniform. He huffed a breath, hands on his hips as he surveyed the damage. Beer bottles, old and new, were scattered around the room.

“Don’t,” Ronan growled.

“Don’t what?” Gansey asked in his too reasonable voice. A voice used on Ronan and other difficult children.

“Don’t say shit,” Ronan sneared.

He stood, wobbling slightly, and pushed past Gansey into Monmouth’s main room. 

“Ronan,” Gansey said in his placid voice.

Ronan ignored it and stalked over to the stairs. 

“Ronan, do not go driving,” Gansey said, now in his authoritative, I know better than you, voice.

“Ronan, listen to me. Ronan!”

The last call landed on the slammed shut door of the stairwell as Ronan maneuvered his drunken self down the stairs. He has never had any issues driving drunk and didn’t see why it would make a difference now.

The engine thundered beneath him as he punched the car into first gear. He burnt rubber as stomped the accelerator, the car jumping up to speed. He tore through the outskirts of Henrietta and sped to the mountains. 

He went to the gas station his fake ID worked at and bought some more booze. Some brown alcohol, stronger than beer. After getting even more trashed he headed out to the fairgrounds, desperate for a sensation besides eating anger and grief.

He found it. Kavinsky and his cronies were messing around in the empty fields around their cars, throwing shit and setting fires.

All Ronan had to do to get their attention was roar by in the BMW. He sent them running to their cars, and soon they were speeding behind him to catch up.

Ronan stoped at a deserted streetlight as it ficked orange. Normally he would blow right through it, but now he was waiting for Kavinsky.

The boy in question pulled up a few moments later. The tinted passenger seat window rolled down. Prokopenko sat in the passenger seat, his grin giddy and lopsided as the rest of him. Kavinsky leaned past him, his white framed shades in the usual place on his face. 

“Hope you got your Poise panties on tonight Lynch because the baby is going to need a diaper change,” Kavinsky said with a sadistic smile. 

Ronan ignored the comment and turned his eyes back to the street light, waiting for it to turn. The lights in the other direction turned orange and Ronan sucked in a breath. They turned red and Ronan’s hand gripped the stick shift tight.

Then the light turned green. The BMW burst off. The Mitsubishi struggled for a second, but then Kavinsky was off, close behind. 

The Mitsubishi began to gain on him, but then Kavinsky flubbed a gear change, like he always did, and the BMW sprang ahead. 

Ronan left Kavinsky in the dust. He didn’t look back, just kept driving and driving.

Deep into the night, when his buzz had finally worn off, Ronan headed back to Monmouth. He found Gansey in the center of his cardboard Henrietta, his worried expression dropping into relief when Ronan slammed his way into the main room. Ronan gave him the luxury of acknowledgement with a curt nod of his head before disappearing into his room.

The next day in Latin Ronan ignored Greenmantle’s lecture, opting to study Adam instead. The way his hand so delicately gripped the pencil, the way his brow creased when he thought, the way he was the first one to raise his hand when a question was asked.

During a lull where they were supposed to be silently working on a translation Adam caught him staring. His head whipped around to face Ronan. 

Ronan tried not to balk and to twist his face into a scowl but Adam was smiling. It was a smile Ronan would raze cities for. He turned away too soon.

The boys took their usual spot at lunch. Ronan hadn’t even sat down before Gansey launched into a discussion about ancient Welsh funerals and how it related to their quest for Glendower.

Noah joined them and helped Ronan make spitballs to send flying at Gansey. Adam even accepted one of the four bags of chips Ronan had grabbed from the kitchen. Ronan even remembered to bring a pencil to Algebra I, if only to avoid another confrontation with Kavinsky.

That night exhaustion was beginning to catch up to Ronan, to the point where he was begging to have trouble thinking straight. He would have to finally face it and get some sleep. 

It had been a good day, so hopefully the nightmares that would come to terrorize him would not be as bad that night. Ronan put on his headphones and settled into bed, closing his eyes. 

***

Ronan stood in a clearing in his dream forest. Luscious green grass grew up to his waist and was tossed gently in the breeze. The sky was bright blue, no sun or clouds visible.

He slowly turned in a circle and when he had turned around he saw Gansey standing at the edge of the clearing. He was wearing his Aglionby uniform and his wire framed glasses.

Ronan relaxed, maybe this wouldn’t be a nightmare. He started to move closer to Gansey and Gansey approached him. He had a real, genuine smile on his face, and Ronan felt himself slowly becoming more and more at ease.

Then Ronan began to notice a buzzing noise. The closer he and Gansey got to each other the louder the noise became, until he realized that the noise was coming from Gansey. 

This revelation was the breaking point in the dream. Gansey took another step and began to disintegrate. His form wobbled and fizzled. The buzzing increased to a thunderous level, the sound of a thousand individual drones. 

Gansey burst apart turning into a swarm of buzzing wasps. The swarm began to scatter and Ronan threw his arms over his face, preparing for a thousand painful stings that would have been deadly to his friend.

But the pain never came. When Ronan lowered his arms and looked at the spot where dream Gansey had been standing Adam was there instead. The remainder of the wasps were still flying around him, but they began to clear out.

Despite the potential danger of the dream, Ronan found himself relaxing. Adam was always a welcome sight. They continued to approach one another. He practically fell into Adam’s arms. If he couldn’t have this in the waking world at least he could indulge in his dreams.

Adam’s smile was soft, warm, and welcoming, until it wasn’t. His face twisted into a sadistic grin and his fingers dug into the soft flesh of Ronan’s forearms.

Ronan tries to pull away but the harder he struggled the stronger the grib became and the sharper Adam’s fingernails got until he had talons for hands, digging deep into Ronan’s flesh. Ronan desperately tried to pull away but Adam would not let him go.

“Adam,” he pleaded.

But it was no longer Adam, but a night horror wearing his face. Inky black feathers like an oil spill spread around his body, fluffing up. Adam’s mouth opened and a piercing shriek came out. 

_ Wake up. _ Ronan thought,  _ Wake up. _

Ronan’s eyes flew open and he was back in his bedroom. He was paralyzed after dreaming like he always was. He felt something wet on his arms, dripping down his hands. When he was finally able to move his head he looked down to see open wounds on his forearms from night horror Adam’s talons. 

Once he could move he went to the bathroom, careful not to disturb a sleeping Gansey, and bandaged his arms


	2. 2

Ronan wanted to skip school the next day, but he had already agreed to go to Nino’s after class with Gansey, so he put up with school. He got a better score on a pop quiz in Latin than Adam did, which improved his entire day. 

That was until he saw the angry bruise on Adam’s wrist that he kept pulling down his sleeve to cover. Rage sparked in Ronan. He went to his locker between classes to slamb it a few times. 

He got over the worst of it by lunch time. He went out of his way again to buy a massive amount of food so Adam would eat some of it instead of it going straight into the trash. 

In an afternoon transition period he caught sight of Kavinsky and his cronies in the hallway and ducked into a random classroom to avoid them. It was a freshman English class. The teacher gave him a scowl to rival his own. Ronan returned the glare, giving it a few moments before he went back into the hallway and the opposite direction that Kavinsky had been heading.

Adam rode in the BMW to Nino’s while Gansey took the camaro to pick up Blue at her school. For Adam, Ronan drove much slower than usual. Still above the speed limit, but not fast enough to make Adam tense up and panic.

They found a booth and waited for the rest of their friends to show up. Ronan got their usual order, Adam demanding to contribute money. Ronan let him without argument.

Gansey and Blue finally showed up after what felt like forever, deep in a conversation about trees or something or other that Ronan did not care about. They joined Adam and Ronan at the booth and when Ronan glanced up Noah was there as well.

They dug into their pizzas, devouring them like it was the first time they had ever seen food. Once properly sated and bellies bulging Gansey pulled out his journal and began to go over his newest lead in their quest for Glendower. 

It was shaping up to be a great afternoon until Kavinksy burst into the restaurant and sauntered over to their table. Ronan saw him first, and accidentally locked eyes with Kavinsky for a second. A wicked smile spread across his face as he approached. Kavinsky leaned heavily on the table, getting as close to Ronan’s face as possible without climbing on top. 

“You’ve been busy,” he said cryptically.

His eyes were bloodshot. They tracked up and down Ronan, stopping on the bandages on his forearms. 

“You know I can help you with your little problem, if you ever get tired of your little,” he paused, glancing around the rest of the table, “you’re little trash trio, come find me.”

Ronan jumped up in the booth. He climbed across the table, almost stepping on the remainder of the pizza, 

“If you have a problem with me, just say it,” he hissed into Kavinsky’s face.

Kavinsky laughed, ugly and mean.

“I don’t have a problem with you, man! You’re the one with the issues,” he snarked.

“Shut the fuck up Kavinksy, you don’t know what you’re talking about,” Ronan growled low and angry.

“Oh but I do Ronan. You think you’re so slick-” before Kavinksy could finish Ronan punched him squarely in the nose.

“Ronan!” Gansey said, jumping from his seat.

Kavinsky reeled back, holding his now bleeding nose. He was chuckling, a sadistic smile on his face. Ronan clenched and then unclenched his fists. He wanted to hit Kavinsky again and again and again. Until the smug expression on his face was long gone. Instead he pushed through the watching crowd and out of the restaurant. He threw himself into his car and sped out of the parking lot.

***

A man in a grey suit, with grey hair, and grey eyes watched the grey BMW fly out of the parking lot of the pizzeria. 

A boy in a bright aqua polo shirt ran out of the restaurant and watched the car as it disappeared around a corner. He shook his head sadly then walked over to his equally bright orange camaro. A skinny, dusty teen, that the grey man did not notice at first, followed the other teen. They climbed into the striped camaro and the car rumbled away in a different direction.

The grey man started his car and drove in the direction of the BMW. He easily found it, trapped in afternoon traffic. He kept his distance as he followed. He fell further and further back as the BMW approached the outskirts of town. It was nearly out of sight by the time it approached the empty fairgrounds. 

It slowed down and the boy inside revved the engine as the BMW swam by. The grey man slowed his car and stopped it, camouflaged behind a copse of trees.

He watched through binoculars as a commotion began to occur in the fairgrounds. There was distant shouting and whooping and then a group of cars raced out of the lot to follow the BMW. The BMW took off and a group of icecream painted cars followed. They sped off into the distance. 

The grey man would not be able to follow that, so instead he got out of his car and approached the fairgrounds. He pushed through a tall swath of bushes and a field of gleaming white cars was revealed to him. 

They were all the same make and model. White Mitsubishis with big spoilers, gaping grills, and a knife graphic splashed across the side. At first glance they appeared identical. Slowly the grey man began to notice minute defects and differences in the cars. A few had the knife graphic pointing the other direction, some didn’t have tinted windows, or windows that were completely black, some didn’t have tires that could be driven on. The differences were all subtle and strange. They all had the same license plate: THIEF, but on a few it was spelled wrong.

Curious the grey man broke into one of the most average looking cars. There was nothing in the interior. He opened the glove compartment and found the registration. The car was registered to Joseph Kavinsky.

The grey man finally had a solid lead.

***

The next day Adam was not at school. A sick feeling settled in Ronan’s gut during Latin and it only grew as the day progressed. At lunch Gansey acted like there was nothing amiss with Adam’s absence, but he did notice the lack of excess food on Ronan’s tray. 

Ronan could not take the anger building in him any longer. He threw his tray across the cafeteria, sending food flying. Every head in the room swiveled to look in his direction at the action. 

He stormed out of the cafeteria and out of the building, ignoring Gansey’s pleas and teacher’s reprehensions. He threw himself into his car and drove with no destination in mind.

It was late at night and Ronan had a bunch of missed calls from Gansey and several from Declan when Kavinsky pulled up to where he was idling at a stoplight.

His window hissed down and he leaned out the car window past Prokopenko.

“You’re so fucking stupid,” Kavinsky snarled, “It could have been us, it should have been us. But you chose trailer trash instead, and now you’re going to fucking pay.”

Kavinsky punched his accelerator, bursting through the empty intersection and into the night. Ronan scoffed. Maybe at least Kavinsky would leave him alone now. 


	3. 3

It was past midnight and Ronan was still out. He had gotten some more beer from the gas station that took his fake ID and was driving a bit slower than usual, but still above the speed limit. He thought about returning to Monmouth but there was still a chance that Gansey was still up and had not at least laid down in bed. He decided to loop around the town once more before returning. 

He slowed down at a stop sign, only because there was another car waiting. They didn’t go after he came to a stop, even though it would have been their turn, so Ronan gunned the engine and took off again. 

Headlights shown bright through his passenger window. He was wrenched to the side and the air was filled with the sound of rending and bending metal. Ronan lost control of the car as the one at the intersection T-boned him. The now combined vehicles slid across the intersection and the BMW was pushed into the ditch.

Ronan’s grip on consciousness was razor thin. The headlights from the other car were gone and the dash lights on his car were off. He was disoriented and could not see anything. He reached blindly for the handle of the car door but could not find it. The car’s windows had broken and the cool night was seeping in, making Ronan shiver.

The driver’s side door opened and Ronan slumped into empty space, his seat belt preventing him from falling to the ground. He felt something hard and thin against his chest as the seat belt was cut with a knife.

Strong arms caught him as he collapsed out of the car. He tried to turn his head to look at his savior but it was so dark that he could not make out their face. He was disoriented and having trouble parsing all the sensations happening to him.

He was dragged away from the car. Ronan reached a hand out to it feebly.

The person dragging him heaved Ronan fully into their arms, lifting him like a ragdoll. Then he was dropped heavily, not onto the ground, but into a cramped area that hurt his bruised body. 

He felt a short rough carpet against his cheek as his legs and arms were stuffed close to his body. He tried to stretch out, but found himself confined in an oddly shaped space with weird indents and extrusions. 

A needle pricked into the fleshy part of his upper thigh and was roughly removed. There was the sound of a car door slamming and Ronan was plunged into a darkness deeper than that of the night outside. He had been injected with something and shut in a trunk of a car.

As Ronan gained his barings and the shock of the car crash began to wear off his panic grew. He pounded on the confines of the trunk, but his limbs felt heavy and useless. Despite the fear poisoning him he found that he was very tired. He struggled to keep his eyes open. Soon a heavy feeling of exhaustion overwhelmed him.

***

Ronan awoke from a dreamless sleep. His open eyes saw darkness and it was hard to breath. He tried to move but found his body bound. He was tied to a chair. His arms cuffed behind his back and his ankles tied to the chair legs. 

He struggled fiercely against his bonds, but nothing came from it besides chafing his skin. Ronan huffed and growled. Breathing was getting harder and harder as his panic rose. 

Slowly the reality of his situation dawned on him. He had been kidnapped. They had wrecked his car and thrown him into a trunk, sedated him and now he was bound with a bag over his head.

He didn’t know what to think, he didn’t know what to do. His thoughts turned to his loved ones. To his brothers and his friends. 

How long had he been gone? Had anyone even noticed yet, when no one expected him to answer his phone and he had a tendency for wandering off without explanation?

He was trapped and powerless. Maybe not powerless, he could dream a way out if only he could get to sleep, but his kidnapper had sedated him. Did they know about his dreaming powers? 

They must have. Why else would he have been captured like this? Maybe ransom money, but there were plenty of other rich assholes in town. 

Before Ronan’s thoughts could run along even further the bag on his head was pulled off. He squinted against the sudden light. His eyes quickly adjusted, the room was lit by only a single bulb overhead. 

Standing in front of him was a nondescript man. He was very dull and unapposing. Ronan could have seen him before and easily forgotten him. Ronan had no idea who he was. 

“Hello Ronan Lynch,” the man said in a voice as monotone and unspecific as he was, “You will give me what I want or I will make things very painful for you.”

Ronan tried to scowl. Usually it was easy for him, but other emotions, mainly fear, warred for dominance on his face instead. 

“Give me the greywaren,” the man said, leaning in closer, “or else.”

“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about,” Ronan said with some satisfaction.

Maybe the man would realize his mistake and let Ronan go. Part of his brain knew this was very unlikely but he held onto hope.

“Oh I think you do. The object your father possessed. The one let the owner take objects from their dreams,” the man said simply and matter of factly.

“There is no object like that,” Ronan hissed.

“You are a terrible liar, I know you have it. Just tell me and we can smooth out our little misunderstanding.”

“I don’t have an object,” Ronan growled at. 

Fear sat like lead in his belly. The man was so close to the truth, Ronan could only dance around it so much.

“Maybe you don’t have it with you, but you know where it is. Tell me,” the man said, getting in close.

He crouched down in front of Ronan, leveling his colorless eyes with Ronan’s icey blue ones. Ronan bared his teeth, then spat in the man’s face.

“Fine,” the man said, calmly wiping away the spittle from his cheek, “Have it your way.”

The man turned away from Ronan to a table behind him. A variety of hardware sat on it, random tools and heavy metal objects. The man ran his hand over them delicately then selected one. He put it in his coat pocket, hidden from Ronan’s view. 

The man turned to the wall and grabbed a second low table. dragged it in front of where Ronan was tied to the chair. 

He came around the table and crouched down by Ronan’s foot. He took off Ronan's boot and sock. He then started to undo the rope holding Ronan’s leg in place. Ronan tried to kick the man when his leg was free but he had no leverage and the man had a very strong grip on Ronan’s ankle. He lifted up Ronan’s bare foot and wedged the table under it, keeping it lifted at an uncomfortable angle. 

“How many toes does one really need, I wonder?” the man said as if he was musing over which icecream flavor to buy.

The man moved around to face Ronan and produced a pair of wire cutters. He opened the cutters and positioned them around Ronan’s pinky toe.

“I heard,” the man said, “That one does not need pinky toes to balance when walking. The other digits will do just fine.”

Ronan’s heart was thundering in his ears. He was suddenly drenched in a cold sweat. This could not be happening. This could not be real.

The wire cutters began to close around Ronan’s toe. The man’s face was impassive as ever.

“Wait!” Ronan screamed when the cutters broke skin and began to squeeze.

The pressure disappeared and the man perked up ever so slightly. 

“They greywaren is not an object,” Ronan huffed out. He still felt like he had the bag on his head. It was so hard for him to breath, “It’s me.”

The man removed the wire cutters and placed them on the table next to where Ronan’s foot was propped up. He kept his expression blank, but his eyes twinkled. 

“Show me then,” the man said, “prove it.”

Ronan’s heart was thundering and he felt feverish, “I have to sleep to do that.”

“I can wait,” the man said. 

He took the low table away and retied Ronan’s leg. He then took a chair from the corner of the room and dragged it over to face Ronan. He sat down and pulled out a small unmarked book. He opened it and began to read. He was content to wait.

Ronan shifted uncomfortably in the chair. He thought carefully as he waited to get tired. Exhaustion was clawing at his bones, the sleep from the sedative had not been restful. He did not doubt that he would eventually fall asleep.

Before he did he needed to come up with a plan. He needed to escape. He had been given permission to dream, he had been handed and out on a silver platter. He just needed to figure out how to do it. He needed something that would get him out of the bonds and incapacitate his kidnapper. 

He imagined it in his mind. The best thing he could come up with. A magic knife that would cut his bonds instantly and would cause the man massive amounts of pain without seriously injuring him. 

He held the image of the knife in his mind, imagining every minute detail over and over until he eventually drifted off.

***

The dream forest was in the middle of a hurricane. Black flood waters rose up to Ronan’s knees, filled with debris and refuge. The trees that surrounded him were tossed in the ferocious winds, they creaked and moaned. Leaves and small sticks were turning into projectiles. 

Ronan tries to picture the knife, imagining it stuck in a tree. He would turn around and it would be there. 

A ferocious screech shook everything. The cauterwail of a night horror filled all his senses. It was coming fast, Ronan had to get the knife. He turned around and a deep shadow fell over him. The nighthorror descended from the sky in a flurry of greasy feathers and talons and screeching beaks and bloody eyes. 

The knife was nowhere and the nighthorror was everywhere. It landed on Ronan, pushing him down into the flood water. The water filled his lungs and smothered his senses. The night horror bore down on him, crushing him and slicing at his delicate flesh.

_ WAKE UP.  _ Ronan screamed in his mind,  _ WAKE UP. _

A flood of water and the nighthorror joined Ronan in the waking world. Ronan watched paralyzed as the squirming mass of feathers and gaping beaks and burning talons launched itself at the man. 

The man jumped from his chair, and the night horror slammed into his body. The man had a gun in his hand suddenly and with two impossibly loud bangs he shot the night horror. 

It barely flinched. One of its terrible beaks clamped down on his head, nearly swallowing it. The nighthorros body shook and scrambled, tossing the man around like a rag doll. The nighthorror sunk its awful talons into the man and twisted its head, trying to pull him apart. The sounds that were made were gruesome. The rending of bones and flesh and the man, killing him.

Ronan watched as the nighthorror picked up the now limp body of his captor and began to swallow it down, gurgling and burping and struggling to fit his body into its gullet.

Once finished, the night horrors hundreds of unfathomable eyes turned on Ronan.

“No,” he croaked out feebly, “Not me I made you, no.”

The nighthorror did not listen. It launched itself and all its sharpness at Ronan’s throat.

  
  



End file.
